


It's You And Me Against The World, Baby: The fringeandfur Wrenchers Archives

by fringeandfur (Skew)



Category: Fargo (TV)
Genre: Ficlet Collection, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-12 08:17:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 12,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16869418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skew/pseuds/fringeandfur
Summary: A collection of Wrenchers ficlets originally posted on the fringeandfur tumblr. Contains sex, violence, unnecessarily detailed descriptions of hairy butts and foreskins, gratuitous silliness - all the good stuff. (Check individual chapter summaries for relevant warnings.)





	1. Preamble

The following works were originally posted to fringeandfur.tumblr.com between August 2014 and January 2016. All of them are about the Wrench/Numbers pairing, in either the canon setting or featuring the canon cast only. The vast majority of them were written prior to Season 2 of Fargo being released, so there's a lot of speculation and headcanon in here about the characters' pasts and futures which has subsequently been contradicted. 

There's 167 pages of the damn tumblr so this will be updated over the next few weeks, hopefully catching all of it before the blog gets zapped for having crudely drawn dicks all over it. Enjoy!


	2. Alternative Information Gathering Techniques

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Numbers and Wrench find themselves tasked with interrogating a guy who isn’t bothered by pain, they decide to resort to other ways of making him uncomfortable.
> 
> cw: homophobic language, ableist language, torture, threats of sexual violence. And, uh, being kind of silly despite all that, in its way?

It’d be straightforward, they said. A walk in the park. Just go to Duluth, get hold of a man named Carter, and find out what he had done with the money that belonged to the syndicate.

What Fargo hadn’t said, of course, was that Carter wasn’t going to give up the information without a fight. Three hours they’d been in this fucking basement, and he hadn’t told them a goddamn thing.

Interrogations weren’t usually this hard. Most people buckled as soon as you put a gun to their head. Ninety percent of the rest cracked once they saw Wrench laying out his tools – the sledgehammer, the dentist’s drill, the cocktail umbrella. (That last one was just for fun, really. It always made the victim extra confused about what was going on, right up until Numbers threatened to jam it up their urethra.) This one, though, had held out longer than anyone they’d encountered before.

First they had tried their usual routine, where Numbers quietly and calmly asking questions while Wrench hovered around looking menacing, sometimes picking up one of his tools and giving it a loving caress. That hadn’t worked out, so they’d gone onto step two, which was very much like step one except that when Carter refused to answer, he got a punch in the gut or a smack round the face. Even with a split lip and a broken nose, blood streaming down his front, Carter just sat back with his shit-eating grin and refused to give them the information they needed.

It was when Wrench cut off one of his fingers and he still wasn’t saying anything that they knew they had a problem. Numbers was doing his best to stay composed, but Wrench could tell his patience was wearing thin.

“We’ve got all day,” he saw Numbers say, but he could see from the bags under Numbers’ eyes and the way strands of his hair were flopping loose that they really didn’t. “We can keep on going as long as we need to. First your fingers, then your toes. You know you can’t walk, without toes? You just keel over.”

Carter flipped Numbers off with his mutilated hand. Wrench quickly grabbed hold of it, twisting it behind his back and using a zip tie to fasten it to the chair. Carter didn’t even wince. Wrench looked back up at Numbers, waiting to see what happened next.

“Last chance, Carter,” Numbers said. “If you still want to be able to walk out of here, tell us.”

“I don’t have to tell you jack, faggot,” Carter spat. “What you and your retard boyfriend don’t get is that I ain’t afraid of pain. Do what you like. All that means is the secret dies with me.”

At least, Wrench figured that was what he said. All he could be certain of was ‘faggot’ and 'retard’, words whose shapes he was unfortunately all too familiar with. He decided to punch Carter in the face again.

Carter turned on him. His face was a red and purple mass of blood and bruises, but he was still grinning. “Oh, you understood that, huh?” he said. He looked over at Numbers. “Your pet mute don’t seem very happy that I know the pair of you are sissies. Does Fargo know? Would they be happy knowing they got a couple of pansies in the organisation?”

Wrench went to punch Carter again, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Numbers signalling to him to step aside and talk to him instead.

 _What’s up?_ Wrench asked.

 _This isn’t working,_ Numbers said.

_I could tell. Should we just kill him and go home?_

Numbers shook his head. _Boss won’t like that._ He looked back at Carter. _We need to try something different._

Wrench thought about it. _Sleep deprivation? Call Fargo, ask for a few more days._

 _They wouldn’t let us have it,_ Numbers said. _I had an idea – if violence isn’t working, how about sex?_

Wrench wondered if Numbers had used the sign he’d meant to. _What? You think we should rape him?_

 _No, no –_ Numbers shook his head vigorously. _But we could put on a show for him. Make him uncomfortable._

Wrench raised an eyebrow. _You’re just doing this because watching me hit people turns you on._

 _I am not!_ Numbers said. He paused. _But that helps._ He patted Wrench on the arm. _Hurting him doesn’t work, he’s been calling us faggots all day, and we could both do with a break._

 _Okay_ , Wrench said, after a moment’s thought. _Pervert._

_As if you don’t enjoy it.  
_

Numbers went back to the interrogation. For a few minutes it continued the same way it had done before, with Numbers asking questions and Wrench hitting Carter whenever he talked back rather than give them answers, and then things changed. Numbers was cupping Carter’s face in his hands, pressing on his bruised cheekbones with his thumbs and repeating the questions, when he made eye contact with Wrench over Carter’s shoulder.

That was the signal, Wrench decided. He leaned in and kissed him, letting Numbers slide his tongue into his mouth, allowing it to become rough and sloppy.

Numbers pulled away. His eyes didn’t look tired any more; he’d got that fire in them that usually meant someone was going to get pounded into the mattress tonight.

“What was that, Mr Carter?” he said. “Did that bother you?”

 _I think it’s working_ , he signed.

Wrench nodded and moved closer, grabbing Numbers for another kiss before dropping to his knees in front of him. He wasn’t sure if this was exactly what Numbers had intended by putting on a show, but he hadn’t a chance to do this since they had started this case, and if this was his only opportunity, he wasn’t going to let it go to waste.

Numbers’ cock didn’t seem to have any problems with the idea, at any rate – he was already half-hard when Wrench pulled him free of his pants, swelling rapidly as Wrench kissed and licked along the length of the shaft. He could taste the first drops of precome beading at the head, and sat back for a moment to admire them, before diving back in and swallowing Numbers down until he could feel hair scratching at the tip of his nose.

He could feel soft vibrations coming from above that suggested Numbers was still talking to Carter. Generally, if Numbers was still capable of speech, Wrench felt that he wasn’t doing a good enough job, but in this instance reducing him to a whimpering puddle was probably not what was wanted here. Feeling Numbers’ hand settling on the back of his head, pulling his hair to tug him back rather than trying to push him further down, confirmed that he needed to slow things down a bit.

Made a nice change. Numbers was usually so impatient, always wanting to go faster, not even waiting a few minutes before demanding that Wrench let him come. Now Wrench could enjoy the scenery for a while, tracing his tongue over the veins that ran along the length, slurping messily at the tip, making sure this asshole Carter got a really good look at just how much he was enjoying Numbers’ dick. Numbers still had his hand on his head, stroking and petting, hips rocking forward slightly, and Wrench could tell that his voice was getting perhaps just a little unsteadier.

He looked up, trying as best he could from this inconvenient angle to figure out what Numbers was saying.

“You see, Mr Carter,” Numbers said, “my boy Wrench here does everything I tell him to.”

Well, that was a lie, and Wrench let his teeth catch the underside of Numbers’ cock just to remind him of that, but it seemed to be having some kind of effect on Carter – his eyes were wide and his arms and legs straining at the ties which held him to the chair. Numbers tapped Wrench’s cheek to get his attention.

 _Take your cock out,_ he signed.

Wrench pulled off, giving him a confused look.

 _Stand up and show him your cock._ Numbers looked impatient. _Just do it. Please?_

Wrench got to his feet and unbuttoned his fly, the rush of cold air against his hard cock making him shudder. He looked at Numbers, waiting to see what he said next.

“See how big he is?” Numbers said to Carter. “Not many guys can take a cock that big. When he’s in me it feels like he’s splitting me apart.”

Wrench felt a surge of pride, stroking his cock and grinning at the way it made Numbers bite his lip and Carter look increasingly queasy. Numbers crouched down beside Carter, holding his head in place so he couldn’t look away.

“You wonder what it’d feel like having that inside you? Scared it might hurt?” he said. He leaned in closer. “Scared you might like it? Maybe you’d like it so much you’d never want anything else.” He looked up at Wrench. “I know I don’t.”

Wrench smiled. _Get back here and let me finish you off._

He got on to his knees again, stroking himself a little as Numbers approached him and guided his cock back into his mouth. He could feel Numbers still talking to Carter, but he didn’t really care right then, more interested in the taste and the smell and the feel of it, sucking him harder and faster until he felt him swelling a little more in his mouth, the first shot of come hitting the back of his throat. He kept on sucking Numbers through the first few hard shots, and then pulled back, lapping up the rest.

Wrench sat back and wiped his mouth with his hand.

_Has he talked yet?_

Numbers looked down at him, somewhat groggy. _Told me everything five minutes ago. More than we needed, actually._ He looked over at Carter, and after a moment’s consideration, drew his gun and shot him in the head.

He reholstered the gun. _Glad that’s taken care of._ He looked over at Wrench, eyes trailing down his body and coming to a halt at Wrench’s cock, exposed and neglected. _Now, where were we?_

Wrench grinned as Numbers knelt down in front of him. Some days, he loved this job.


	3. Smooth Criminal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the following prompt:
> 
> "Numbers has many kinks, getting choked, humiliation, wearing frilly underwear, Wrench finds it ridiculous. What's wrong with good old fashioned hard and fast sex? Numbers is upset by Wrench's criticism. And an upset Numbers will seek revenge. So next time they fuck, Wrench undresses Numbers, and finds that all of Numbers' chest and pubic hair is gone. 'What the hell!?' - 'I shaved. Guess what, you have a kink, too!' Numbers spends the next few itchy weeks if that dramatic gesture was worth it."

Wrench ran his fingers across Numbers’ chest, and pulled a face.  
  
 _What?_ Numbers said.  
  
 _Bristly_ , Wrench replied.  
  
It’d been a week since Numbers’ little stunt, and the hair was starting to grow back, but it was a long way from regaining its former glory. Wrench was missing it something awful - fine, the point was made, they both had specific things they liked and just because Numbers’ likes were a little less mainstream didn’t make them less worthy of attention.  
  
Still, he felt that Numbers had won a victory at his own expense. No hair meant no loving stroking and nuzzling of said hair, and no rough grabbing at it either. Wrench had even been less inclined to cuddle than usual; when the hair was really short and stubbly, it’d given him a rash.  
  
 _Was it worth it?_ he asked Numbers.  
  
 _Yeah, just to see your face. At least I didn’t remove the beard._  
  
Wrench nodded vigorously. _If you’d taken off the beard I’d have had to divorce you._  
  
 _We’re not married, Wrench._  
  
 _I’d drive all the way to Massachusetts and marry you just so I could divorce you again._  
  
 _That’s a lot of effort to go to in order to spite me._  
  
 _As much as hacking down that forest of hair was?_  
  
 _Touche._  
  
Wrench smiled, and ruffled Numbers’ hair. _You’re an idiot, but I forgive you._


	4. Suit and Tie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally written to celebrate being the 100th post on the blog, but then I set up the queue wrong and it ended up being the 101st. But anyway, here's some porn about Numbers getting off on what Wrench looks like in a suit.

Numbers took his appearance very seriously. His tailored suits and smart shoes weren’t the best clothes for hiking through snow or chasing down victims, but what they lacked in practicality, they made up for in psychological impact. When you looked good, you got respect.

When he’d first met Wrench, he thought he looked ridiculous. He still thought Wrench looked ridiculous now, but he’d learned to like it; like Numbers, he had a strong sense of personal style, and he had the masculine good looks to just about get away with the cowboy theme. Occasionally he took it too far – like that one summer he had worn a Stetson everywhere, or the assless chaps he’d bought for a joke – but these days, Numbers wouldn’t dream of trying to change what Wrench wore on an everyday basis.

That said, though, he had been delighted when Wrench had finally given in and agreed to let Numbers buy him a suit. He didn’t wear it very often, because he didn’t feel very comfortable being dressed up formal, but when he did, it was a heck of a treat.

Because Wrench was of the perverse belief that the seventies had been the height of men’s fashion, the suit was a dark brown three-piece. It had been hand-tailored, and cut to fit closely, emphasising the taper of his torso from shoulders to waist. In fall and winter Wrench’s body was usually hidden under several shapeless layers, but the suit gave you a clear idea of just how fucking _built_ he was. Raw power in pretty wrapping – what wasn’t to love?

Between Numbers’ keen appreciation of how good Wrench looked dressed up, and the fact that nights when Wrench was either feeling kind enough or owed Numbers badly enough to smarten up for him usually ended in sex, just the sight of Wrench in his suit was generally enough to make Numbers drastically, distractingly turned on.

That was why, on what should have been a nice relaxing night out at a fancy restaurant to celebrate a job well done, Numbers was feeling distinctly fidgety. Even at the start of the meal, he’d been so focussed on admiring Wrench’s appearance he’d been startled by the waiter appearing with the menu. Now, after a few glasses of wine, he was having great difficulty thinking about anything other than whether he would be able to get away with dragging Wrench to the nearest restroom and having his way with him. It didn’t help, either, that the wine was making Wrench flirty.

_Why are you staring at me?_ Wrench said, as they waited for their dessert to come.

_What, I can’t look at my own boyfriend?_

Wrench smirked. _It’s the suit, isn’t it?_ He leaned back in his suit, his cocky grin widening. _As soon as I put it on, all you’ve been able to think about is how much you want my dick._

Numbers rolled his eyes. _I’m not playing this game with you._

_Why not?_ Numbers felt Wrench’s foot stroking his ankle, sliding up along the back of his calf.

_Because unlike you I have enough class to not talk dirty in a restaurant._

Wrench laughed out loud at that – too damn loud, enough to make other diners turn their heads and frown.

_And now people are looking_ , Numbers said.

Wrench shrugged. _People always look at us._ He licked his lips. _I should bend you over this table, give them something worth looking at._

Numbers gritted his teeth. _Not. Playing._

Wrench pouted. _Why not?_

_Because you’re fucking right, that’s why. Because I’ve been so damn hot for you all evening I’ve found it hard to not run to the bathroom and jerk off. Because if you keep flirting with me, I’m gonna have to jump you right here, and then we’ll be kicked out of the restaurant. So be a good boy and let me enjoy my dessert, and then we can go home and you can do whatever you want to me._

Wrench bit his lip, a flush spreading across his cheekbones. Numbers grinned. It was good to have the upper hand.

*

Of course, he didn’t have it for long. During the cab ride home it was too dark to see each other’s hands, so Wrench couldn’t talk dirty, but he had other means by which to make his intentions clear.

It started when he put his hand on Numbers’ leg, just letting it rest there. Then, slowly, he slid it up along Numbers’ thigh, settling his palm over his groin. Just the weight and warmth of Wrench’s hand cupping his cock and balls was enough to make him start to get hard.

Numbers buried his face in the crook of his elbow, biting down on the fabric of his coat so he didn’t attract the cab driver’s attention with any noises he might accidentally make while Wrench fondled and squeezed him, teasing his cock until it’d gone from tentatively twitching to being fully erect, straining hard against the fly of his pants. Wrench ran his fingers up and down the length of the zipper, hinting once or twice that he might consider undoing it – and then the cab stopped.

Numbers was so, _so_ glad for the dark of the night and the length of his coat that hid the wood he was sporting as he paid the cab driver. He was a lot less glad that they were still fifteen minutes’ walk from his apartment. Generally their habit of never taking a cab all the way to their door was a sensible precaution, but walking through town when he’d got an erection he could fell trees with was going to be a challenge.

He made it all of two minutes before dragging Wrench into the nearest alley and pushing him up against the nearest wall.

Numbers kissed him, hard and frantic, rocking his hips against Wrench’s and moaning when he felt Wrench’s own erection pressed against his. He pulled back, panting for breath, and was about to drop to his knees when Wrench tapped him on the shoulder.

_Not here,_ Wrench signed.

_Why not?_

Wrench gestured at the puddles and dirt around them. _If I let you get your pants dirty I’d never hear the end of it. Anyway –_ He grabbed his crotch, bucking his hips at Numbers. – _I’ve got better plans for this._

Before Numbers could reply, Wrench grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him away.

*

As soon as the door to Numbers’ apartment was shut and locked, they were kissing. They staggered blindly towards the bedroom, somehow managing to navigate round the corners and furniture before Numbers stumbled backwards over the edge of his bed and pulled Wrench down with him. Wrench dug his fingers into Numbers’ hair and pulled his head back, baring his neck so he could suck and bite his way down along it. Numbers felt Wrench’s hands pulling his jacket from his shoulders, then unknotting his tie; he reached out to do the same for Wrench, but Wrench suddenly grabbed his right wrist, pinning it back against the headboard and using the tie to fasten it in place.

Numbers tried to use his other hand to finger-spell out a question, but only got as far as _w-h-a-t a-r-e y-_  before Wrench had removed his own tie, grabbed Numbers’ other wrist, and tied that one up too.

_Want to make this last,_ Wrench said. _You always rush things._

There was just enough give in the tie for Numbers to turn his left hand and flip the bird.

_Don’t be like that. This way you get to see more of me in the suit._

Wrench smiled and leaned in close. Numbers instinctively moved in for the kiss, but instead Wrench ducked down and kissed his neck again, sucking marks on his throat before unbuttoning his shirt, pushing the fabric aside and nuzzling at the exposed skin.

Numbers squirmed as Wrench lavished attention on him, running his hands up and down his sides, raking his fingers through Numbers’ chest hair, sucking and biting at each nipple. Much as he hated to admit it, Wrench was right; he was usually so worked up he was too impatient for foreplay. He might admire Wrench’s body from a distance, or lazily run his hands over him as they lay together kissing and talking in the afterglow, but beforehand, he was generally just desperate to come.

Though who could blame him when Wrench often had him already worked up for hours on end? As Wrench lay biting kisses along Numbers’ shoulders and upper arms, Numbers bucked his hips, trying to get some relief from rubbing against Wrench’s thigh.

Wrench grabbed Numbers’ hips and pushed them down against the mattress.

_Stay_ , he signed.

He knelt astride Numbers, taking off his jacket, rolling up his sleeves and undoing the top two buttons of his shirt, but didn’t strip off any further. Instead, he ran his hand over the bulge in his pants, showing Numbers how his cock was tenting out the fabric.

“Christ, just fuck me already,” Numbers grunted.

_What was that?_ Wrench said. _Can’t hear you._

Numbers could’ve punched him. “Asshole.”

Wrench raised his eyebrows. _Did you say something about my ass? Want me to lube myself up and ride you?_

Numbers glowered at him.

_Or was it this you wanted?_ Wrench rubbed himself through his pants again. Numbers bit his lip.

_Thought so,_ Wrench said. With maddening slowness, he unbuttoned his pants, easing them and his underwear down his hips until his cock sprang free.

Numbers’ mouth watered. He liked to think he’d seen his fair share of dicks in his time, but Wrench’s was definitely his favourite: long, thick and uncut, with a slight upward curve to it that somehow made it look like it was always extra happy to see him. Instinctively, he strained towards it, the muscles of his arms tensing as he pulled at the ties around his wrists.

Wrench smiled and roughly grabbed hold of him by the jaw, rubbing his cock against Numbers’ cheek and lips before finally sliding it into his mouth. For a moment or two he stayed still, letting Numbers lap and mouth at the head, before pushing in further.

Numbers groaned. He loved it when Wrench used his mouth like this. Loved everything about it: getting right up close to that big beautiful cock, hearing Wrench grunt and moan, the musky smell and sharp taste of sweat and precome. Even having Wrench’s fingers messing up his hair and getting spit and precome in his beard was okay. He was just lying there and taking it, being used for his boyfriend’s pleasure, and it was fucking fantastic.

He tilted his head back a little to let Wrench get just the right angle to shove it all the way down his throat, moaning around it and feeling Wrench cry out in response. When he tasted the first drops of come on the back of his tongue he readied himself to swallow, but then Wrench pulled out, shooting across Numbers’ face, painting long stripes across Numbers’ cheek and chin, some of it getting on his chest and neck.

Wrench fell backwards, putting out his arms behind himself so he could remain in a kneeling position. He looked absolutely wrecked: his face and neck were flushed and his hair was dark with sweat, his chest heaving and his cock still thick and swollen, glistening with Numbers’ spit.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” Numbers sighed, wishing his hands were free to sign it.

Wrench must have caught some of it, though, as his shoulders shook in a silent chuckle and he pushed himself forwards again. He leaned in and kissed Numbers softly, licking his face clean.

_Want me to deal with this?_ he said, squeezing Numbers’ cock.

Numbers nodded eagerly. Christ, right now he was so far gone he was half expecting to come as soon as Wrench took his pants off.

He watched as Wrench unbuttoned his pants and lifted his hips to pull the clothing from his lower half, throwing it over his shoulder, and gasped as his aching cock was finally exposed to cool air. Wrench ran his fingers up and down the length of it, swiping over the head and licking the precome from his fingertips.

“Mm,” he said out loud. _Love how wet you get for me._

Numbers was starting to lose patience with dirty talk. “Please,” he said.

_What?_

“Please, please, just jerk me off, suck me off, anything. I need to come so bad.”

Wrench smiled broadly. _I only got about half of that, but fuck, you’re so hot when you beg. Should make you do that more._

“Wreeench,” Numbers whined (and thank God Wrench wasn’t able to hear how embarrassingly needy he sounded now, he thought). “Come _on_!”

Wrench patted his thigh. _Okay, babe, I got you._

And with that he leaned in and swallowed Numbers down to the hilt. How Wrench had got so damn good at that was one of the mysteries Numbers had yet to learn from him; eleven years ago, when he was Wrench’s age, he certainly hadn’t figured out how to suppress his gag reflex or not be completely taken aback by someone coming in his mouth. Wrench, though, sucked cock like his throat had been custom-made for it.

In the face of such an onslaught Numbers couldn’t hold out for long. He felt it welling up in him like water coming to the boil, rising and rising until _there, fuck, yes, yes –_ he swore and shouted Wrench’s name and whimpered in an unmanly fashion, his spine arching and toes curling, while Wrench swallowed down everything he had to give.

Finally, Wrench pulled away, and Numbers sank down onto the mattress, feeling like he’d been wrung dry.

He felt a touch on his wrist, and opened his eyes to see Wrench undoing the ties around the bedposts.

Wrench laughed. _You almost tore through this one,_ he said, showing Numbers the frayed fabric.

_You fucker, that’s mine_ , Numbers said, sitting up suddenly.

_Well, look, you got come on my suit,_ Wrench said, pointing to a spot on the vest where he’d had struggle swallowing it all in one go and some of it had dripped off his chin. _That’s going to have to be dry-cleaned._

_You could have taken it off before you fucked my face and sucked my dick_ , Numbers pointed out.

_That would be missing the point._ Wrench gave him a soft, almost sheepish grin. _Was worth it to see you get that turned on. I don’t get why you like me in a suit, but I’m glad you do._

Numbers felt a warm glow in his chest, a feeling he was slowly starting to become familiar with. _I like you in anything, idiot. But thanks for indulging me. I guess I owe you something next time._

Wrench chuckled, a wicked look appearing on his face. _You might regret that._

Numbers leaned in and kissed him. _I’m sure I won’t. Now take that damn dirty suit off and get into bed._


	5. Smooth Criminal 2: Electric (Razor) Boogaloo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two more mini-fics about the terrible possibility of a clean-shaven Numbers.

Ask 1: " **Numbers shaves his beard off. Wrench almost has a fit.** "

 _What have you done?_ Wrench looked distraught.  
  
 _What do you think I’ve done?_  
  
 _Why would you do that?_ Wrench just didn’t understand it. He’d loved that beard. It suited Numbers perfectly, and without it his face just looked wrong to him, somehow. _Your face looks too small now! You’re like a little naked mole-rat!_  
  
“Naked -” Numbers remembered to sign. _Naked mole-rat? What the fuck?_  
  
Wrench nodded. _It doesn’t suit you and I don’t like it._  
  
 _Well, it’s my face, so fuck you._  
  
 _Fine. But I’m not going to enjoy kissing you until you grow it back._  
  
(This was a lie, as it turned out. Nevertheless, the feel of smooth skin against his face was not something Wrench was entirely delighted about. Nor was Numbers very pleased when Wrench gave him a pack of stick-on moustaches in the hope it might make the regrowth period easier to deal with.)

 

Ask 2: " **Numbers keeps shaving just to spite Wrench, even though he actually thinks he looks better with the beard. Finally after Numbers realizes that their marks don't take him as seriously as they used to now that he's clean shaven, he grows the beard back.** "

 _Did you see what that dipshit called me?_ Numbers said, storming out of the building.  
  
 _It was either ‘penis’ or 'peanut’_ , Wrench signed.  
  
 _Peanut_ , Numbers confirmed. _Like I’m a goddamn kid!_  
  
 _You do look like a kid._  
  
 _I’m nearly 40!_  
  
 _Then you should be glad you don’t look it, right?_ Wrench said. _Was that why you shaved?_  
  
 _I shaved because I’ve had a beard for years and I felt like a change. But fuck it. If it stops me from being called peanut I’m going to grow a beard like a goddamn Civil War general._  
  
 _Could you maybe have something in between those extremes? You know, like that beard you used to have which was sexy and handsome and which I really miss?_  
  
Numbers gave Wrench an amused look. _I had no idea you were so attached to it._  
  
Wrench shrugged. _Well, how would you feel if I removed my sideburns?_  
  
 _Relieved._  
  
 _Yeah, yeah._ Wrench was pretty damn sure Numbers would be just as bothered if he changed. Luckily, however, he wasn’t inclined to try it and find out.


	6. Witness the Fitness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Original prompt:
> 
> "Wrench has to start doing his daily workout routine while Numbers is asleep because when Numbers walks in on Wrench working out, he will jump him right then and there. Although Wrench appreciates a nice mid-morning romp, and it does indeed provide another form of exercise, he really needs to stick with his routine."

_Well, what am I supposed to do?_ Numbers protested. _You’re just_ there _, all half-naked and sweaty and muscular and… stuff…_ He flapped his hands around, running out of ways to convey what he wanted to say in the signs he knew. _How am I supposed to resist that?_  
  
Wrench huffed. _I think it’s sexy when you shoot people but I don’t jump you in the middle of firefights._  
  
Numbers raised his eyebrows. _You think that’s sexy?_  
  
 _Yeah, that look of concentration, the little mad glint in your eye…_  
  
Numbers’ smile widened, and he beckoned to Wrench. _C'mere, you._  
  
Wrench stepped forward, putting his hands onto Numbers’ hips, then stopped. _Wait, no! The whole point of this conversation was that I shouldn’t be having sex right now!_ He pushed Numbers back. _Go out and buy milk or something, stop being a distraction._  
  
 _You can be so disappointing sometimes,_ Numbers signed as he went to get his jacket and coat.  
  
 _You’ll thank me for it later. This hot body doesn’t look after itself._


	7. Stamina

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Original ask:
> 
> "Wrench is 10+ years younger than Numbers. Numbers is in good shape & has a considerable libido, but there are times, when they're fucking, that the age difference shows. Numbers will be lying there, breathing heavy, spent, but pretty soon Wrench is ready to go again. In these instances, they have an agreement that Wrench can just go ahead and do as he likes & Numbers'll just lay there & go w/ it, so long as Wrench doesn't expect him to do anything terribly active."

Wrench loves moments like this. It doesn’t matter that Numbers doesn’t recover as fast as he does, or always want to go another round, because that just means Wrench gets the privilege of seeing him like this.  
  
Numbers is sprawled out on the bed beside him, breathless and wrung out, relaxed and utterly unguarded. Only a few minutes before he was all wound-up tension, impatient and grabby, speaking and signing at the same time in his desperation to get just where he wanted to be.  
  
And Wrench loves how demanding Numbers can be, don’t get him wrong, but this is something much rarer - Numbers with his guard down. Numbers letting him kiss and touch him slowly, casually, just for the sake of touching, without trying to move things in what he considers to be more productive directions.  
  
He doesn’t move, but murmurs softly as Wrench trails his fingers over his body, just to enjoy the contours of his muscles and the heat of his skin. The lamp on the nightstand makes the sweat and come on his stomach shimmer, and Wrench wishes he was half as good as Numbers with a camera, so he could capture that image.  
  
He licks him clean, works his way up to his chest, rubbing his face against all that gloriously thick chest hair. He can feel himself getting hard again already; Numbers gives him a slow, lazy smile as he sees it bobbing up against Wrench’s stomach. He gestures loosely with one hand - not even a sign, really, but Wrench knows him well enough to get the gist.  
  
He straddles Numbers and rocks against his stomach, rubbing his cock and balls against the taut muscle, running his hands all over Numbers’ chest and shoulders. The friction’s good, but it’s not that which sends Wrench over the edge a second time - it’s looking up at Numbers’ face and seeing him watching Wrench from under hooded eyes, giving him a look of undisguised affection.  
  
 _I don’t know how you do it_ , Numbers says as Wrench flops down beside him, now equally worn out.  
  
Wrench smiles cockily. _Hard not to, with you around._


	8. Digits and Numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a brief conversation in another post about Numbers flipping the bird at Wrench and Wrench responding with 'is that an offer?'  
> Which of course led to someone prompting, "The next time Numbers gives Wrench the finger, it is exactly in the way Wrench insinuated."

The next time Wrench made that stupid joke about whether a finger was an offer, Numbers decided to stop fighting it, and rise to the bait.  
  
He stared straight at Wrench. _Yeah, it is_.

  
  
He wasn’t sure what reaction he’d been expecting for calling Wrench’s bluff, but it wasn’t being dragged out of the convenience store and into the back seat of the car, to being thrown down and kissed hard, Wrench grabbing hold of Numbers’ hands and placing them squarely on his ass.  
  
Numbers had never fully understood the impression “an ass that won’t quit” - how often did anyone’s butt tender its resignation? - but ever there was such a thing, it was Wrench’s ass. He groped and kneaded the firm, muscular flesh through Wrench’s jeans and then tugged his jacket and shirt out of the way so he could put his hands under the waistband and get at bare skin. Wrench loosened his belt and fly to let Numbers get a better grip, groaning against Numbers’ mouth.  
  
His groans became even louder when Numbers’ fingertips found his asshole, feeling it twitch as he stroked across it. Their position wasn’t going to be the best - he’d rather have Wrench on his back, spread out for him - but it was clearly enough for Wrench, and Numbers wasn’t too put out at having to make do.  
  
He put his other hand to Wrench’s mouth.  
  
 _Suck_ , he fingerspelled out, and offered his fingers. Wrench did so, licking and sucking his fingers until they were slick and wet. Again, not perfect, but more than enough for Numbers to be able to ease his middle finger into Wrench’s ass.  
  
Wrench moaned the whole time it was going in, and buried his face against Numbers’ shoulder, making little whimpering noises. Who’d known he was craving something up the butt this badly? Numbers decided to make a mental note for next time.  
  
He could feel Wrench’s hard cock pushing against his stomach, and shifted around as best he could to try and get a hold of it. The limited space in the car didn’t afford him much room for manoeuvre, but he was able to press it down against his stomach, Wrench rutting against him while Numbers focussed on doing about as best a job of he could of fingering his ass left-handed.   
  
Even if it wasn’t Numbers’ best work, though, it seemed to be enough for Wrench; within a few minutes he was shuddering and gasping against Numbers’ neck, coming thick and hot over Numbers’ stomach and hand.  
  
Wrench pulled away, half-straddling Numbers, half-crouching, bent over in the limited space of the back seat. Numbers looked at his hands and at the mess of his shirt.  
  
 _My clothes are ruined_ , he said.  
  
 _Not ruined._ Wrench grinned. _Just need to get home and get you out of them._  
  
Numbers shook his head. _What’s got into you today?_  
  
 _You, in about half an hour._ Wrench opened the car door behind him. _Stay there, I’ll drive us home._  
  
Numbers still didn’t entirely understand what’d brought on this mood in Wrench, but he didn’t think he minded.


	9. Boystown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the following prompt:
> 
> "Wrench thinks it would be funny to watch Numbers squirm during his first visit to a gay bar. But what actually happens iis that loads of guys come up to Numbers and start flirting with him, and Wrench gets all possissive and has to drag his partner into the men's room for bathroom stall sex."

This, Wrench thought, had backfired dramatically.  
  
When a job had taken them to Chicago Wrench had begged Numbers to let him take him out to Boystown - they spent so much time in small towns without any gay subculture at all, and though he’d never been a perfect fit in such places, every now and then he felt the need to remind himself of what he wasn’t missing. And hadn’t Numbers once said he’d wondered what gay bars were like but had never had anyone to go with? Now was his chance.

  
  
He’d expected Numbers would despise the whole thing, and that had certainly been the case in the first couple of places - all cheap drinks, neon lighting and hardly anybody over 25. It’d been hilarious watching Numbers grimacing his way through glasses of bad whisky and coke, keeping to the shadows and glaring at the kids on the dancefloor like their youthful enthusiasm was a personal insult to him.  
  
But then they’d found a place where Numbers had suddenly wanted to stay. Where the bar served decent beer and the music was, apparently, good. Where, to Wrench’s huge annoyance, guys kept coming up to Numbers and flirting. And this, this was all wrong. When had he become old enough that the best place for him was a goddamn bear bar? And why was Numbers the main attraction? He had facial hair too! But no, every guy who came to their table was all over Numbers, offering to get him drinks, asking about his tattoos, and Numbers, the vain little turd, was just lapping it up.  
  
Eventually, something in him snapped and he got to his feet.  
  
 _Follow me,_ he said.  
  
Numbers frowned, but let Wrench lead him through the bar and to the men’s room. He raised his hands to say something, but Wrench grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him into the nearest stall, slamming him back against the thin wall of the divider and roughly kissing him. He felt Numbers pushing back, hands raking through Wrench’s hair, pressing his body against him - and then he pulled back.  
  
 _What’s all this about?_ Numbers signed.  
  
 _All those men looking at you_. Wrench pushed his thigh between Numbers, pressing against Numbers’ groin. _Wanted to remind you._  
  
Realisation dawned on Numbers’ face, and he smiled. _Jealous? Don’t worry. None of them were as good as you._  
  
Wrench nodded. _Good._ He leaned in and kissed Numbers hard, grabbing his hair and pulling his head back so he could suck bruises down his jaw.  
  
He stroked Numbers’ cheek, and then signed _mine_ , smacking his hand against his chest.  
  
Numbers nodded. _Yours. Always._ There was a look in his eyes, something between affection and lust; both flattered by Wrench’s concern and turned on by his possessiveness. At least, that was Wrench’s take on it, but whatever it was, it set a fire raging in his belly. He fumbled for Numbers’ fly, fully intending to turn him round and have him here, against the wall - when the whole stall rattled with the vibrations of someone banging on the door.  
  
Numbers shrugged. _Must need it more than we do._ He kissed Wrench, and took his hand. _C’mon. Let’s get out of here._


	10. Smooth Criminal 3: Shave Hard with a Vengeance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Original prompt:
> 
> "Numbers is in the bathtub, having a soak, combing his hair, cos he's a vain dork. When he gets out of the tub, he realizes his hair is coming out in chunks. He accidentally reached for the razor comb Wrench had bought for the stray cat he took in (cos Numbers had complained about cat fur all over his clothes). Had Wrench heard the scream, he woulda thought Numbers had just died."

Dammitdammit _dammit_ , this is the stupidest thing he’s done since that time he was in a hurry and picked up a case of rolls of camera film instead of shotgun shells.  
  
He paces up and down the bathroom, wondering how he can salvage the patchy mess that is his scalp, and realises that the damage already done leaves him with only one option. Wrench is elsewhere, utterly oblivious to the buzzing of the shaver (and possibly the sounds of faint, strangulated sobbing) coming from the bathroom - until Numbers walks out, hair now cropped down to a short fuzz all over.  
  
Wrench chokes on his coffee, slamming the cup down on the table so he can sign _What have you done?_ (The cat on his lap yowls and runs away.)  
  
Numbers is still upset. _Don’t say anything. Just don’t._  
  
 _Did you find a grey hair and panic? Are we going undercover as gay bikers?_  
  
 _I said don’t say anything!_ Numbers turns his back, sulking.  
  
Wrench decides to get out and leave Numbers to mourn his hair, whatever the heck just happened to it. Perhaps he’ll go shopping for hats.


	11. Only One Of Us Is Cooling Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:
> 
> "Numbers is so mad because Wrench is sucking away on some stupid popsicle and that's so childish, just get a cold drink like a grown up, that's why he's mad, not because looking at Wrench put that thing in his mouth makes him feel all the embarassing feels..."

God, Wrench got on his nerves sometimes. Numbers had been working with the man for about six months now, and he felt they’d established a pretty solid working relationship, but there were certain things which just rubbed him up all the wrong way.  
  
Little things, stuff it would be stupid to complain about, but irritants nevertheless. Take this popsicle, for example.

  
They’d been driving all day, hot and sweaty in the humid summer heat, and they’d stopped off at a 7-11 to get refreshments. Numbers had just picked up a bottle of water, but Wrench had decided he wanted a popsicle. And since he was driving, Numbers had to sit and wait for him to finish eating said popsicle before they could move on.  
  
What kind of grown man ate popsicles? And, ugh, he knew he couldn’t exactly blame Wrench, but he was so noisy about it - sucking and slurping, lips smacking, breathing heavily through his nose. When Numbers ate popsicles as a kid, he’d suck them until they were thin enough to bite and then crunch his way through, but Wrench seemed intent on drawing it out: licking up and down the length of it, lapping at the end, making little noises of approval as he pushed it in and out of his mouth.  
  
Numbers glared at him. It’s disgusting, he thought, watching the way the popsicle slid over Wrench’s lower lip, the cheap artificial colouring turning his mouth shiny and red.  
  
Wrench looked up, the popsicle still in his mouth, and stared right at Numbers. Numbers felt his face flushing. With rage, he was sure.  
  
Wrench took the popsicle and held it between his teeth so his hands were free. _You want one for yourself?_  
  
Numbers shook his head, quickly turning his head away. _Just hurry up. You’re driving me mad._  
  
He made a mental note that next time, he was going to tell Wrench to get a drink instead. And that he wasn’t going to ever let him anywhere near a banana.


	12. Invictus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a big ol' pile of fix-it fluff. Inspired by this picture: http://weardes.tumblr.com/post/96580652272/memento-mori

One year, three months, seventeen days. That’s how long it had been since the last time Wrench had shared a bed with Numbers.

He hadn’t been counting, but somehow the figure had always been there in the back of his mind as he had made the long journey away from Minnesota. During those dark days spent shivering in the back of trucks and scrubbing decks on merchant ships, the memory that kept returning unbidden was that of the last night they had spent together before everything went wrong.

It hadn’t been a good night. He had been tired and Numbers had been stressing out about money, and their half-assed attempt at sex had ended with a mutual acknowledgement that it just wasn’t working tonight. Numbers had got of bed and gone to sleep on the couch, suddenly in one of those moods where he couldn’t stand to be touched, so Wrench had taken the opportunity to cocoon himself in the blankets. It’d been annoying, but no big deal – there’d always be other times.

But the day after, they were told to go to Bemidji. Their accommodation was a tiny fishing hut, so small that they had to take turns sleeping on the fold-out army cot that was the only bed. Sex had been the last thing on their minds except, perhaps, as a vague and distant thing to look forward to when all this was over.

Instead, Wrench had watched as his whole world was destroyed.

Given an escape route, he did the only thing that seemed feasible in the circumstances and ran. Someone else could deal with Malvo. He just wanted to get the hell out of the Midwest, away from bad memories and endless snow. He never wanted to see snow ever again.

So he’d run and he’d drived, hitched lifts and taken jobs from men who didn’t ask questions and appreciated that he didn’t talk, until finally he’d found a place he felt he could bear to stay, in a remote port town in the Caribbean. He didn’t have much but his shack and the clothes on his back, and the money he earned unloading boats at the docks was only just about enough to pay for food, but if he had to spend his life anonymous and alone, there were worse places to do it than a tropical beach.

Yesterday, he had come back from fishing by the coast to see Numbers sitting on his porch. His eyes were sunken, and his temples turned a little grey, but it was definitely him.

They had stayed up late that night eating and talking and sharing stories of their travels, but they hadn’t had sex. Wrench had been working hard all day and Numbers was filthy and exhausted from his travels, so Wrench had let him take his single bed while he had rolled a blanket out on the beach, going to sleep under the stars.

Now he was awake, he went back indoors. Numbers was naked, lying curled up on his side, the sheets kicked off and tangled at his feet. Wrench padded across the room and sat down on the edge of the bed, and lightly ran his fingers up along Numbers’ arm. He knew that disturbing him from his sleep was a risky business, but it was impossible to resist – after so long without him, he felt he had to touch him to prove he was here and real.

Numbers stirred, wincing at the sunlight as he half-opened his eyes, greeting Wrench with a crooked smile. He’d always been at his most affectionate in those moments just before waking and just before going to sleep, and rather than swatting away the touch like he might have at any other time, he rolled onto his back and spread his arms wide.

Wrench took that as permission to continue, running his hands up and down along Numbers’ body before leaning in for a kiss. The old familiar feeling of beard scratching against his face made something inside him clench, hot and tight, almost enough to make tears prickle at the corners of his eyes. He crawled on to the bed, straddling Numbers’ legs, taking Numbers’ face in his hands and kissing him again and again. Numbers deepened the kiss, dragging hands down over Wrench’s bare chest as their tongues lazily slid together, thumbs rubbing over Wrench’s nipples.

It’d been so long since he’d been touched even casually, let alone with this old familiar intimacy, and it felt like electrical sparks shooting underneath his skin. Fear and pain had killed his libido during the days that he’d been on the run, but now it was surging back into life like a beast trying to claw his way out of his chest, every little contact between Numbers and him making his heart beat faster, his cock grow harder.

He dragged Numbers up to a sitting position, running his hands up and down Numbers’ back. He let Numbers nuzzle at his collarbones and chest, reverently exploring the old scars – the stab wound that had only been an inch short of his liver, the starburst marking where he’d been shot in the shoulder, the dog bite on his forearm – and then the new spot, a little way above his hip, where the bullet had hit him in the blizzard. Numbers’ fingers lingered over that one the longest.

 _It’s okay to touch it_ , Wrench signed. Like his other scars, it just felt numb and strange; like each injury took away a little bit more space where he could feel.

He ran his hands up along Numbers’ arms, over tattoos like old friends, and up to twine his fingers in Numbers’ hair and kiss him again. Numbers sighed and instinctively tilted his head back to let Wrench kiss down his neck, the way he always had in the past.

Wrench stopped. The night before, Numbers had been wearing a bandana around his neck. It was bare now, and with his head back, what his beard and the angle of his head had previously partially concealed was displayed to him fully.

There was the scar from the knife wound, a livid pink line. And over that was a new tattoo, ornate black letters spelling out the words _memento mori._

Numbers lowered his head as he made eye contact with Wrench. He touched his hand to his neck, looking concerned. Self-conscious, Wrench realised.

 _I was looking at the tattoo_ , he said.

_Too much?_

Wrench shook his head. _Beautiful._

_You don’t have to lie to make me feel better._

_No, I mean it._ How did he put all of this into words? About how utterly infatuated he was, always had been, with Numbers’ defiant strength? About how much he admired and adored his body, every mark on it another testimony to his determination to make his path through life his own way?

 _It was a bit dramatic, but where I was, at the time… it seemed to make sense._ Numbers could have said the same for most of his tattoos. He lowered his eyes, not looking at Wrench. _Other than me, and the guy who did it, you’re the first person to see it._

 _I really do like it,_ Wrench said. _Though if I had chosen it, it wouldn’t say memento mori._

_No?_

_It should say invictus._

Numbers smiled broadly, and pulled Wrench into another kiss. They didn’t break away this time, not when Numbers tilted his head back again and Wrench nuzzled and kissed at the unmarked skin on the side of his neck, and when Numbers clawed down Wrench’s back, dragging off Wrench’s boxers and throwing them aside.

Wrench had hoped to be able to draw this out, but between the way Numbers was kissing him, and feeling those hands stroking and kneading his ass, he felt overwhelmed. He rutted his throbbing cock against Numbers’ stomach, matting the hairs with the precome leaking steadily from the tip, groaning against Number’s mouth and feeling the moans that came in reply vibrating all through his body.

Their bodies slid against each other, slick with sweat, Numbers’ smaller frame fitting perfectly against Wrench’s as he arched his back and pressed close against him. Wrench felt the heat and hardness of Numbers’ cock against his own, and made himself pull away from the kiss so he could take a better look.

Numbers looked completely undone. His hair was all over the place and his lips red from kissing, bitemarks scattered across his shoulders and bruises starting to form where Wrench had grabbed at his hips. His cock lolled against his stomach, fat and flushed, and Wrench lazily trailed a fingertip down the underside, starting from the circumcision scar just beneath the head and following a vein down to the thicket of dark, sweat-damp hair at the base.

Numbers ran his hand down Wrench’s side, giving him a look of mingled amusement and affection as he signed,

_Are you just going to sit there admiring our dicks, or are you going to do something?_

_I’m sitting here admiring everything,_ Wrench replied. _So impatient._

 _It’s been a long time!_ Numbers rubbed his thumbs over the deep groove where Wrench’s hips met his abdomen, before pulling back to talk again. _Please. I need this so badly._

Well, seeing as he’d asked so politely…

Wrench shifted his hips to line their cocks up against each other, and took them both in one hand. He rubbed his palm over the heads, getting it slippery with their mingled precome, and started to stroke them both hard and fast. He saw Numbers’ mouth move in a fairly unmistakeable curse, before he threw his head back and started to buck up into Wrench’s grip, stomach and thigh muscles flexing as his hips rolled upwards. Wrench wanted to sit back and watch him come apart beneath him, but his own need was too bad. He couldn’t just look, when he was able to touch.

He dived back in for another kiss and Numbers wrapped himself around him, flinging arms around his neck, legs curling around the back of his thighs. The little bed’s headboard knocked against the wall as Wrench started to put his back into it, the hand trapped between them still jerking away furiously, their bodies rolling and surging together. Wrench felt Numbers moaning against his neck, and at the same instant there was hot come shooting up his stomach, spilling over his hand.

Wrench let Numbers sink down against the mattress, letting him break away just enough to allow him to firmly grip himself. Only a few strokes were needed before he was coming too, longer and harder than he had in a very long time.

He rubbed out the last few drops onto Numbers’ stomach, and slumped forward, propping himself on his elbows to avoid crushing Numbers completely. He direly wanted to lie down beside him and curl up around Numbers’ back, but there wasn’t enough space on the bed to allow it. The first thing he was going to do today, once he’d showered and eaten, was to go out and find out where he could get a bigger bed.

 _See, this is why I couldn’t have invictus tattooed on me,_ Numbers said.

Wrench felt like he’d missed something. _What?_

Numbers patted Wrench on the arm. _Because I’m not. You conquered me._

Wrench blinked. _Wow. That near-death experience made you sentimental._

“Fuck’s sake!” he saw Numbers say out loud. _I was trying to be romantic!_

Wrench had to laugh at how indignant Numbers looked. He caught him by the waist, dragging him sitting so he could give him a long, tight hug. God, he was so glad to have his stupid, angry, hopeless-at-pillow-talk boyfriend back.

_I appreciate it, babe. It’s okay, you’ll get better with practice._

Numbers punched him on the arm, but couldn’t hide a smile. _Fine_ , he said. _Now, let’s get up and have breakfast. I’m starving._


	13. It's Not A Phase, Mom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "The first time Wrench sees Numbers wearing something that isn't black."

Ever since Wrench had known Numbers, he’d always worn black. When they were at work he always wore a dark suit and shirt, even in the depths of winter when Wrench was wrapped up in five or six layers. Then a little later, when they’d started socialising outside work hours as well, Wrench was entirely unsurprised that Numbers favoured plain sweaters and jeans in black and navy blue. Even his underwear was black.  
  
And Wrench didn’t mind - it suited him - but he did find it quite amusing that Numbers was so committed to a theme.  
  
They’d been dating three months when he saw Numbers wearing something that wasn’t dark. He had woken up on a sunny Sunday morning, and finding that Numbers was no longer in bed beside him, had wandered off to see where he might have gone.  
  
The smell of bacon (he was so glad Numbers was so thoroughly lapsed in his religion, as Wrench wasn’t sure he could’ve held back on his love of all things porky for his sake) led him to the kitchen, where he let out an audible chuckle at the sight which greeted him.   
  
_What?_ Numbers said, as Wrench leaned against the doorframe.  
  
 _Your shirt,_ Wrench pointed out. Numbers was wearing the same black boxer-briefs he’d had on last night, dark grey slippers on his feet - and over those, an almost painfully bright turquoise and blue tie-dyed t-shirt. _I didn’t know you wore things with colours._  
  
 _It was the only clean shirt I had left!_ Numbers said. _Bought it at Lollapalooza years ago._ He looked a bit sheepish. _I was pretty damn stoned at the time._  
  
 _Figured._  
  
 _Anyway, you have no right to judge my wardrobe, cowboy._  
  
 _Who said I was judging? You’re looking good, Wavy Gravy._  
  
Numbers rolled his eyes. _Keep talking like that and I won’t give you any bacon._


	14. Morning Glory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:
> 
> "It's late at night and Wrench and Numbers are asleep in bed naked after a nice romp followed by cuddles. But now Numbers is getting cold, so still half-asleep he picks up whatever piece of clothing is lying closest to himand puts it on, going back to sleep. When Wrench wakes up in the morning, he sees Numbers asleep in Wrench's open, oversized shirt. And he immediately has to wake him up for a round of morning sex."

On Numbers, the shirt is huge, cuffs covering his hands and the collar slipping down to expose a shoulder. Wrench’s immediate instinct is to kiss the curve of bare skin, running his lips up along the side of Numbers’ neck. Numbers stirs, but doesn’t open his eyes.  
  
He’s not sure if it’s the size of the shirt, or just the effect of seeing his clothing on Numbers’ body, but something about it makes Wrench suddenly feel intensely protective of Numbers. He knows Numbers would be annoyed to have Wrench think of him that way - he’s old enough, smart enough and strong enough to take care of himself. He is not, in any way, vulnerable.  
  
But dishevelled and sleepy, with his hair a ruffled mess and last night’s bitemarks still visible on his shoulders, he looks as if he might be.  
  
Wrench curls up close against Numbers’ back, pressing his morning wood against the cleft of Numbers’ ass. Numbers murmurs softly and presses back against it, and when Wrench reaches a hand round, he finds Numbers already starting to get hard.  
  
He rocks against Numbers, cock sliding easily between the firm, well-muscled cheeks of his ass. For a few minutes Numbers remains still and lets Wrench do as he will, cock growing and stiffening in Wrench’s hand.  
  
And then he moves, turning and pushing Wrench on to his back. He straddles Wrench’s hips, rolling his ass back against Wrench’s cock while stroking himself, his free hand placed on Wrench’s chest to steady himself.  
  
Wrench just folds his hands behind his head - he knows how much Numbers loves the way it makes the muscles on his arms and chest stand out - and slowly rolls his hips up, but lets Numbers take control of the ride.  
  
It shouldn’t be right for him to be adorable and incredibly sexy at once, but that’s the only words Wrench can think of to describe how Numbers looks as he rocks back and forth on top of him, Wrench’s flannel shirt still draped around him. In about half an hour’s time he’ll be washed and dressed up in his usual black clothes, and this scruffy, affectionate, horny version of Numbers will have been firmly put back in his box again.   
  
So though it’s hardly rushed, it all ends far too soon for Wrench; as soon as he sees the first drops of come spilling over Numbers’ hand, he goes over the edge himself, instinctively closing his eyes and therefore missing out on seeing most of Numbers’ climax.  
  
When his breathing evens out and he opens his eyes again, Numbers is already up and out of bed, shirt thrown aside, wiping himself clean. Numbers glances back at Wrench over his shoulder, giving him a fond smile.  
  
 _Got your shirt dirty. Sorry,_ he says.  
  
Wrench waves it off. _It’s ok. It was worth it._


	15. There's A Satyr In My Pantry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:
> 
> "Faun!Numbers may look fluffy but he is a scheming bastard, luring clueless hunters into his part of the woods pretending to be a deer, making them fall into traps and taking their food and supplies. Meanwhile satyr!Wrench is a different beast, cos saytrs are as smart as any humanoid creature, but they're bigger and more on the wild side and they sure don't talk human. One day Numbers just finds him intruding his cave, eating his pantry clean and messing up his neatly arranged stuff."

Mr Numbers is used to intruders in his wood, whether it be hapless hunters, talking beavers, or little girls on dangerously unsupervised visits to their grandmother’s house. He is not, however, used to waking up to find goddamn satyrs in his pantry.

  
  
“Excuse me!” he shouts, watching the man-beast (or is it beast-man? The nuances are somewhat delicate) rifle through his stuff like a small, localised whirlwind. There’s apple cores and cheese rinds on the floor all around him, and now he’s snuffling through the bag of oatmeal, eating it raw. The satyr doesn’t respond.  
  
“I said _excuse me_!” Numbers snaps, going up to the satyr and grabbing him by the arm.  
  
The satyr looks down at him, frowning. He points at his ears. Numbers doesn’t know if that means he can’t hear him, or just can’t understand him; they’re more beastly than manly, most of that kind, and a lot of them don’t speak the common language.  
  
Numbers grabs the bag of oatmeal from his hands, spilling half of it on the floor but making his point clear.  
  
“Mine,” he says, pointing at the surroundings, and then at himself. “Mine, mine, mine.”  
  
The satyr seems to understand, his pricked-up ears drooping in defeat. His stomach growls.  
  
Numbers notices, for the first time, that the satyr, although as broad-shouldered and strapping of any of his kind, looks distinctly pale and underfed. He’d heard there’d been a bad winter out west: heavy snows, poor harvests, wolves roaming the plains. Maybe this guy’s desperate for anything he can get.  
  
He sighs heavily.  
  
“Okay, fine. Take what you want. Stay if you have to.”  
  
After all, he’s a handsome beast - and Numbers can’t help but notice, without meaning to, that the rumours about satyrs and which particular parts of them are equine are completely true - and it gets lonely, out here in this cave on his own. He never felt bad about throwing out an unwanted guest before, but maybe there’s a first time for everything.  
  
He hands the satyr a pear, and the satyr smiles, then pulls him into a hug. Oh goddammit, he stinks like a barn. Part of Numbers is already thinking he might’ve made a mistake; but either way, he just missed his chance to back out.


	16. You're Only Getting One Kind of Wood Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:
> 
> "Wrench's sex drive is through the roof. All Numbers needs to do is wag his eyebrows at Wrench, and without a doubt he'll be pinned to something in the next ten seconds. So Numbers is shocked the first time he climbs on top of his partner but Wrench isn't in the mood."

One of the things Numbers loved about Wrench was how easy he was to get going. He didn’t think he was bad at sex, at such, but setting the mood was not his strong point, so it was quite an advantage that Wrench seemed to be able to go from zero to raging beast in a matter of seconds.

  
  
The strangest little things seemed to set him off: drinking, fighting, watching Numbers eat, seeing him clean a gun or stretch up to take something from a high shelf. Hell, even just plain existing in Wrench’s proximity sometimes seemed to be enough for Wrench to start giving him that intense, ‘I’m going to fuck you from here to next week’ stare, and all it took from Numbers was a grin or a raised eyebrow to have Wrench getting to his feet and slamming him against the nearest stable surface. And then there’d be kisses and groping, those big sure hands stripping off his clothes and working him open, Wrench’s mouth around his cock or Wrench’s cock pounding his ass, hitting his sweet spot every time - seeing as Numbers’ seduction abilities pretty much began and ended with “hey, wanna fuck?”, it was a pretty sweet arrangement.  
  
Except when it didn’t work.  
  
This time, it was Numbers who’d got worked up. They were staying out in the boonies for this assignment, and Wrench had been chopping firewood for the stove. Call it cliche, but Numbers loved watching him work, breathing hard and working up a sweat, shoulders and arms flexing with each swing of the axe.  
  
When he’d brought in the firewood and dumped it in the basket by the hearth, Numbers had wasted no time in manhandling him into the nearest seat and crawling into his lap for a kiss. He bit at Wrench’s lips and slid his tongue into his mouth, roughly rubbing his hand over Wrench’s crotch and eagerly anticipating the feeling of him growing hard in his pants. Half an hour he’d been out there, swinging that axe, and Numbers had been driving himself mad with anticipation at the thought of getting his mouth around that big, juicy cock.  
  
But instead Wrench gently pushed him away.  
  
 _Not now_ , he signed.  
  
Numbers pouted.  
  
 _I’m worn out._  
  
Numbers still pouted. It was just fucking typical, the one time he initiated something was the one time he didn’t get it.  
  
Wrench kissed him on the forehead, and ran a hand down his arm.  
  
 _Sorry, babe. I’m only human. I’ll make it up to you later._  
  
 _You better,_ Numbers said, mouth crooking up in a smile. _You don’t get to just do that sexy lumberjack act and expect me not to go wild for it._  
  
 _Don’t worry,_ Wrench said back, smiling widely. _Trust me, I’ll make you appreciate waiting for me to recover._


	17. Country Boys Make Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:
> 
> "This is something outdoorsy boys do and city boys don't understand - and I can see Numbers going 'What the hell' at Wrench for doing it. Namely they're out in the woods, it's morning, and Wrench gets up to pee in the lake (in plain sight, not hiding behind a tree, nothing) and when he's done he just starts rubbing his morning wood til he relieves himself into the water a second time, in a different way. Cos it's practical or something. Two birds one stone."
> 
> This story is set pretty early on in their working relationship, when they don’t know each other all that well, and this is the first time that they’ve been staying in a cabin in the woods rather than a motel.

Numbers was just going out to collect more wood for the stove when he saw where Wrench had gone. He didn’t mean to stare, exactly, but it was one of those instances where he couldn’t turn his head away, not quite able to believe what he was actually seeing. It looked like something from a porno he’d seen once; if it followed the plot, any minute now, an inexplicably shirtless lumberjack was going to stroll out from behind a tree to give Wrench a hand.

No lumberjack appeared, and Numbers remembered that there was such a thing as giving someone some privacy just in time to avoid the money shot (part of him relieved, part of him disappointed).  
  
He returned to the hut and dumped the firewood in the basket, only a moment or two before Wrench returned.  
  
 _All done out there?_ Numbers said.   
  
Wrench nodded.  
  
 _Were you seriously jerking off into the lake?_  
  
Wrench didn’t look startled or annoyed at having been noticed. _When we’re in motels, I jerk off in the bathroom. No bathroom here, so I jerk off by the lake._  
  
That was logical, Numbers supposed. _You could just not jerk off at all_ , he pointed out.  
  
Wrench smirked. _Suddenly I see why you’re so bad-tempered all the time._ He nudged Numbers. _If you want to go out to the lake, I promise I won’t peep._  
  
Numbers felt a hot rush of something between embarrassment and arousal, a series of images flitting through his head - getting to come for the first time in several days, Wrench going back on his promise and coming out to join him, or Wrench deciding to help him out right here - he shook himself out of it.  
  
 _I’m good,_ thanks, he said, waving it off. _Unlike some people, I have some self-control._  
  
Wrench’s bitter, barking laugh said exactly what he thought of that statement. But Numbers didn’t care. He wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of being right.


	18. Don't Think About A Pink Elephant (And By 'Pink Elephant' I Mean Wrench's Massive Dick)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt, following on from the previous ficlet:
> 
> "Speaking of Wrench jerking off in a motel bathroom: Wrench is, well, jerking off in a motel bathroom and he has the fan on so he thinks Numbers won't be able to hear him. But Numbers can definitely hear him, and he's just lying in bed staring up at the ceiling trying to keep himself together."

It was like that whole thing about not thinking about pink elephants: tell someone to not have a mental image, and it becomes the only thing on their mind.

  
Something like that had happened after Wrench had mentioned that he often jerked off in motel bathrooms. Once Numbers had existed in blissful oblivion, assuming he was just taking long showers or lovingly trimming his muttonchops, but now every time Wrench disappeared into the bathroom for a fifteen-minute stretch, he knew exactly what was going on.  
  
It wasn’t like he could say anything, either, because Wrench was attempting to be considerate. He tried to do it when Numbers was out doing something else, and he usually put the fan or the air-con on.  
  
And it wasn’t like he was deliberately trying to listen out for it either. But no matter what distraction he deployed - watching TV, reading a book, putting the pillow over his head and his hands over his ears - it was the pink elephant problem. He couldn’t not hear the faint sounds of heavy breathing and muffled groans coming from the bathroom.  
  
Sounds led to images that no amount of firm mental scolding could chase from his mind: Wrench bent over the sink, pants pushed down to mid-thigh, face flushed as he furiously stroked his cock. He’d be working hard and fast, Numbers guessed - would he grit his teeth or bite his lip? Close his eyes and throw his head back, or look down at himself? Was it just the basics, his fist working over his cock, or did he sometimes push up his shirt to toy with his nipples, maybe reach back to work a finger up his ass?  
  
Would it be rude to start jerking off as well? After all, it wasn’t like Wrench was in the same room… but no matter how insistent his erection, he could never quite go that far. There was always the likelihood that Wrench would finish and walk out to see him halfway through, and that just wasn’t something Numbers thought he could deal with. So he just clenched his fists and wished he could just will his arousal to go away.  
  
Wrench came out of the bathroom shirtless, towel slung around his neck, and reached back to shut off the light and the fan.  
  
 _Nice shower?_ Numbers said, unable to hold back a smirk.  
  
 _Very nice_ , Wrench said. _You want to go next?_  
  
Numbers shook his head and rolled over in bed, turning his back on Wrench. Goddammit, this job couldn’t end fast enough.


	19. Who Even Does That?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "So this is before they move in together, possibly before they get together? Numbers is dropping by at Wrench's place, for whatever reason, and find him sitting at his kitchen table, reading a thing, and eating tortilla chips. No salsa, no beans, no guacamole, nothing. Just plain ol chips. Like some kind of insane person."

Numbers is baffled, and Wrench is baffled by his baffledness.  
  
 _Are you seriously eating plain corn chips?_ Numbers says.  
  
Wrench shrugs. _It’s just like eating Doritos._  
  
 _Doritos have flavours! That’s like eating plain bread!_  
  
 _I do that sometimes too._  
  
Numbers flails a bit before he can form actual words. _Food is meant to taste of something! Why would you do that?_  
  
Wrench just furrows his brow. _You shouldn’t get so angry over small things. It’ll give you indigestion._  
  
Numbers just gives him a disgusted look and remembers that whole thing about taking deep breaths and counting to ten. Never worked in the past, but there’s a first time for everything.  
  
And it just about works now in terms of helping him accept that Wrench is Wrench, and what he puts in his mouth is his business.  
  
That doesn’t mean he doesn’t judge the hell out of him several days later when he catches him eating plain boiled pasta, without sauce. That’s it. Soon as he gets the chance, he’s teaching this goof how to cook. The last thing he needs is for his partner to get scurvy.


	20. It Doesn't Literally Involve Blowing, Either (Faun!Numbers and Satyr!Wrench, Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "First time faun!Numbers goes down on satyr!Wrench, Wrench just about kicks Numbers in the face - he's never seen this before, he thought Numbers tried to eat his dick!"
> 
> Set some time after the first ficlet in this setting - they’ve now established Wrench is deaf, and Numbers has learned the sign language of the satyrs, and they have struck up a beautiful friendship travelling far and wide across the enchanted forest gathering (or stealing) treasures, slaying monsters (and anyone else, if there’s a reward in it), hiking many miles to gather the fallen leaves of the Scrunyun tree, etc… but they haven't figured everything out yet.

And after a hard day of mythical heroing, they are in a loving, fuzzy embrace, and Numbers is kissing his way down along Wrench’s body, fondling his cock, mouth watering in anticipation of doing something he’d wanted to do for some time now.  
  
But when he takes Wrench in his mouth, Wrench makes a startled kind of whinnying noise and bucks him off.  
  
 _What are you doing?_  
  
Numbers is sprawled on the ground, shocked and confused. _What do you think I was doing?_  
  
Wrench frowns at him. _It looked like you were trying to bite my cock off._  
  
 _Why would I do that?_  
  
 _I don’t know! Goats eat anything._  
  
Numbers would punch him, if he wasn’t so attractive. _Really? Really? You’re a satyr! Your kind hang out with the god of wine and spend all your time chasing tree-nymphs, and you’re telling me you’ve never heard of a blowjob?_  
  
 _I grew up on the prairie. There aren’t many orgies or tree-nymphs out there._  
  
Numbers sighed. Great, so he shacks up with the one satyr who doesn’t match up to his species’ reputation for sexual libertinism. On the other hand, oh boy, that means he gets the privilege of seeing Wrench react to feeling this for the first time.  
  
 _Well, why don’t I show you? It feels good, I promise._  
  
 _You’re definitely not going to bite my dick off?_  
  
 _I’m too fond of it for that._   
  
Wrench nods warily, and beckons Numbers towards him. His mother had always warned him never to trust a faun, but this, as it turns out, was exactly as good as Numbers said and then some. Numbers looks pretty pleased with himself, too; he’s a bit put out at how hard Wrench grabbed on to his horns when he started to get into it, but other than that, the look on Wrench’s face is all he needs to know that it was a job very well done.


	21. Roofies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "An enemy baddy they're supposed to take out roofies Numbers, and Wrench is trying to get Numbers back home and get the potentially dangerous drug out of his system, while Numbers just tries to get his hand down Wrench's pants. When it's determined he's gonna be fine, Wrench takes him home. Still won't let him touch his cock, though. He's not gonna take advantage."

It figured, Wrench thought to himself on the long drive back to his place, that the one goddamn time Numbers was horny and handsy and completely unrestrained, he was out of his head on drugs.

  
The good news was that he wasn’t in any immediate danger, according to the exhausted-looking young doctor at the ER. The bad news was that there wasn’t any way to get it out of his system, other than waiting for it to run its path. Wrench never thought he’d be thinking this, but why couldn’t it have been Rohypnol or some other sedative, rather than whatever it was - he was thinking possibly MDMA - that had made Numbers so giggly and tactile.  
  
He kept lovingly running his fingers through Wrench’s sideburns or playing with the fringes on his jacket, but that wasn’t half as annoying as how he kept going for Wrench’s fly while he was driving. When Wrench stopped and got out, Numbers followed him out of the car and pulled him into a kiss - a sloppy, messy, fucking gloriously dirty kiss that Wrench would’ve been happy to accept in any other circumstance but this.  
  
He reluctantly pushed Numbers away and manhandled him into the house, again having to swat his hands away as Numbers leaned against him, nuzzling at his neck and opening his shirt to lick his collarbones. He hadn’t been this aggressive with Wrench for ages; after the initial passion of their relationship had settled down into something more stable, the sex they had tended to be more affectionate than the wild, mad, passionate love-making of their early days. They still had their moments, every now and then. But Wrench wasn’t going to fuck Numbers when he wasn’t in the right frame of mind to really know what he was doing. Tempting though it was.  
  
Numbers was on his knees in front of him, and would probably be sucking Wrench’s dick if he hadn’t got distracted by the texture of Wrench’s jeans instead. Wrench gently pushed him back from where he was lovingly rubbing his face against Wrench’s thigh, and led him through to the living room.  
  
He had to give him a distraction, he decided. Something other than him to think about. And if it was MDMA, maybe music would work? He rummaged through Numbers’ CD collection, looking for something upbeat. It wasn’t easy, given both Numbers’ music tastes - Bob Dylan, no; The Smiths, no; Leonard Cohen, oh jesus no - and the fact Numbers had draped himself over Wrench’s back and was licking the edge of one of his ears. But then he found something, hidden underneath the others almost as if Numbers was ashamed of it.  
  
He slid it into the CD player and turned it up loud. And sure enough, Numbers started dancing, closing his eyes and letting the beat take him away.  
  
Wrench put it on repeat; the buzzing of the bass would keep him awake, until Numbers finally burned himself out. In the meantime, he felt, he might as well sit back and enjoy the show.  
  
  
  
The next morning Numbers awoke feeling groggy, tired, and somewhat gloomy from the comedown. Wrench brought him coffee and toaster strudel, which helped, but he still didn’t entirely know how he’d got to Wrench’s house in the first place.  
  
 _What happened last night?_ He asked.  
  
 _That jerkass drugged your drink_ , Wrench explained. _Took you back here to keep an eye on you._  
  
 _I didn’t do anything embarrassing, did I?_  
  
 _You kept trying to put the moves on me, but don’t worry, I didn’t take advantage. I just put this on and that distracted you._ He smiled broadly. _You were really getting into it._  
  
Numbers looked at the CD Wrench was holding up, feeling his face prickle with shame.  
  
 _I spent all night dancing to the Spice Girls? Jesus Christ, how could you let that happen? You should’ve just let me fuck you!_  
  
Wrench sighed. _You’re never happy._


End file.
